


The Traversing Love of Dr. John H. Watson

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV John Watson, Sherlock special spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In either time, either place, either reality, John Watson has his priorities, as does Jim Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Traversing Love of Dr. John H. Watson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



~~~~

“He nearly died.” 

“Nearly, Johnny boy, nearly. He’s fine.” 

“And so are you. You’re welcome.” 

Still dripping on the expensive carpet, Professor Moriarty stood from his chair and strode to his bar, pouring himself a drink and depositing his coat on the floor. I watched him, trying to ignore the water dripping down his ghostly pale neck from his striking raven hair, and how his clothes were gripping his body in a vice. 

The task proved highly difficult. 

“Sorry,” Professor Moriarty said in his soft but deadened voice, the one he used when he was busy thinking and not actively participating in the conversation. “I wish I cared more about his well being.” 

“No you don’t,” I scoffed, snickering a little. “You don’t give a damn about whether he or yourself is well, Professor, you proved as much on those cliffs.” 

“Sherlock was keen on either of us dying, Dr. Watson. It was his actions that put us there.” 

“And your bloody prodding!” I spat, taking a jerking step toward him. Moriarty chuckled, looking over his shoulder at him. 

“You kicked me off the cliff, Dr. Watson, wasn’t that payback enough?” He turned around, looking at me with glittering black eyes, sipping his brandy. 

“Depends on if you can keep your damn mouth shut,” I retorted, clenching my hand. It wasn’t fair that he could look like that and sound like that while I was so furious with him. 

“Now, now, Dr. Watson,” he said, advancing toward me like a great shadow, the fire behind him darkening his features all the more. His eyes looked like hollow black holes. “I thought you enjoyed it when my mouth was open.” 

He was close to me now, so much so I felt the water on him fall onto me, seep through the fibers of my suit, seeking skin, looking to sink deeper inside of me, that I was sure. His gaze couldn’t be more invasive and he knew it was the precise way to make me crumble. 

“Not when you’re behaving this way. Causing this amount of...mayhem,” I stated. I could smell his skin, warmed under the water. Intoxicating. He finished his drink. 

“I thought you liked that too. The danger,” he said, toying with scarf under my collar. “You like me because I’m dangerous, Dr. Watson. You like the...primal way I let you be with me.” I felt heat rise to my ears, another tremor working through me as he removed the hat from my head. “Just like you enjoyed kicking me off that cliff, and watching me give Sherlock a right good punch. You did enjoy it, didn’t you? After the chaos and verbally abusive nonsense he drags you through. You like brutality, Johnny boy.” 

I looked about, nervous we may not be completely alone and he’d called me that twice now. I did enjoy watching Holmes get knocked around a bit, nearly as much as I enjoyed watching Moriarty deliver them. The raw strength in his soft, well-kept hands, the power in his body that surged and bubbled to the surface when it was finally time for it to be so. 

“Doctor,” he whispered, touching my face now and I knew I was utterly done for. “I’ll keep quiet, keep my nose clean awhile, not bother your precious, precious detective. So long as I get some...attention, from time to time.” 

“Attention?” I was playing the imbecile now, he would see right through that in a moment. I watched it flare in his eyes and ignite the smile that spread over his lips. 

“You know what I mean,” he purred, sending another shiver down my spine. He had me now, I was lost. Utterly at his whim. And he was more than aware of it. 

“Mor- James. I can’t, what about Mary-” 

He kissed me, silken lips carrying away any thoughts of my wife or Sherlock or brides. My senses utterly vanished. 

Moriarty grinned at me, the fire dancing off his features, making him look like the devil Sherlock always accused him of being. “Hush. And give in.” 

The temptation presented by Satan was always the most appealing thing to mortal men. How was I expected to be immune?

~*~ 

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” 

“Don’t yell, Johnny boy, it’s a bad day.” 

“I don’t give a damn! He overdosed, Jim!” 

“Shh!” 

Jim spun around, hissing through his teeth at me and I could’ve rammed my fist into that mouth, pissed as I was, but I didn’t. I sniffed and clenched my fists regardless. 

“Bad. Day,” he repeated, cracking his neck and coming closer to me. “Don’t make Daddy hush you up, now.” 

“Don’t,” I warned, looking up at him, fighting not to back into the wall of this safehouse, this anonymous, nameless apartment in the maze of London, spectacularly away from Mycroft’s cameras, surrounded by people paid off to guard a man they’d never seen with their lives should the occasion arise. It hadn’t yet, but John was sure if he didn’t stop snarling at him like this it might. “What are you doing, I thought this was done!” 

“It was,” he chuckled. “But he...just can’t seem to behave unless he’s got someone toying with him like the plaything he is. A cat to bat around the mouse, don’t you see? For God’s sake, Johnny boy, how many times has he had to use drugs to keep himself stimulated-?” 

I’d never actually hurt him. Never in my life. I thought about punching him, but that might undo a lot of work. So I shoved him back instead. 

“Shut up! Fucking hell, James, he could’ve died and you’ve started up this pissing contest again for the hell of it?!” I watched him cringe, the volume of my voice tearing into his skull and making it throb. Those headaches were vile, I knew that, but I was too pissed to back off, too angry to relent, though I knew I should stop. “He thinks you’re dead. Thinks you faking it; would’ve been ‘too silly’ or some shit. Nearly went comatose going into his mind palace trying to work it out.” 

“And his little airbag-magician-big brother help help-scenario wasn’t silly?” He snorted, his eyes dangerously dark. He wouldn’t hurt me, though, I knew that too. 

“I don’t know, I’m just telling you what he’s going through,” I retorted. 

“Since when have I ever, ever given a damn whether or not Sherly’s perfectly alright or not?” He asked, still so quiet. 

“He’s important to me,” I pressed, taking a jerking step toward him. “Especially when he’s pumping himself full of drugs because of you!” 

“Now, now,” he growled, grabbing my arms, crossing them over my chest and shoving me into the wall, pinning me there. I always forgot how strong he was. “Stop. Yelling. My head hurts,” he whispered, pressed against me, just a breath away from my mouth and I had to pretend to be disinterested. Any other time this would have done absolutely everything for me but I had to hang onto my anger. “I didn’t load the drugs into the syringe, I didn’t sell them to him, I didn’t put them in his ridiculously skeletal looking body, I. Didn’t. Force. Him. He did that, on his own, in his childish little panic to try and figure me out, and he failed.” 

“James-” 

“Stop calling me that, I know you’re angry, but stop,” he said quietly, looking at me now. His eyes were the color of brandy in this light, his voice wafting over me like music, hypnotising me out of my anger. Fuck it all, it was working. “You’re worried.” 

I didn’t want to talk about this. Not now, not when I was supposed to be furious and he was supposed to be apologizing. “Worried?” I blinked, licking my lips. “What about?” 

“You tell me,” he said, still pinning me. 

Fine. Fine, if he wanted to talk then…fine. 

“You almost died once,” he breathed. “The little stunt you pulled before- You...you were dead. For less time than he was, but you were still dead. My best friend and my-” We never talked about labels and things. Wasn’t important. “-were both dead. And I was alone. And now you’re starting it up again.” 

“If I stop now he spirals again,” he reminded and I felt a hot pang hit my stomach, an angry one. Because he was right. “It’s too late, John.” 

“Why start it again at all?!” 

“Would you rather he be in Siberia or wherever the Ice Man was sending him?” He demanded. I clenched my jaw. 

“Don’t pretend this is about him, you just said-” 

“It’s not for him, don’t be stupid,” he scoffed. “It’s for you. It’s always been for you, John, everything I’ve done is for you. Whether you’re mine or not. You want him to die in six months or do you want him to have something to do?” 

“Jim…” 

“Breathe,” he sighed. “And just...relish in the fact that your best friend and your...whatever I am aren’t fucking dead and are very happy to remain in your company.” He paused. “If you still want to be in my company.” 

I stared at him for a moment. Uncaring and unattached as he tried to be I could see the worry in his eyes that I would leave again and this time I wouldn’t come back. Or talk to him. Call him. Let him text me under some ridiculous name and number. 

Deep down, I knew I could never leave him. Hell, I knew that since the pool. Fuck, that was so long ago… 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I sighed. He let my hands go. 

“You are,” he nodded, taking a step back and grinding the heel of his hand into his temple. 

“That’s not helping things,” I said quietly. He stared at me. 

“Any better ideas?” 

“Don’t shoot yourself in the head?” I smiled a little. He smiled back at me, not nearly as dangerous as he used to look at me. 

God help me, why did I have this need to surround myself with dangerous criminals, psychopaths and high-functioning sociopaths? 

I walked up to him, gently holding his face in one of my hands, the other tightly gripping his hip. “Maybe this’ll help.” 

He pulled back, just a little. “What about Mary?” He challenged. I swallowed, pulling him closer again. 

“Shut up.” 

I kissed him. The most familiar thing in the world, as if I was born knowing that I would be kissing these lips, as if I’d been doing it over the course of several lifetimes in the most unavoidable circumstances. 

But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?


End file.
